


Some Unexpected Madlibs

by SongsofPsyche



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Humor, Madlibs, hahahahaha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:59:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongsofPsyche/pseuds/SongsofPsyche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a box of crackers, tampons or his pet spider-monkey, or anything that he usually took when he went out.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Unexpected Madlibs

**Author's Note:**

> All credit goes to Tolkien.

To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a box of crackers, tampons or his pet spider-monkey, or anything that he usually took when he went out; leaving his practice SAT tests half-finished and quite unwashed-up, pushing his teapot into Gandalf’s hands, and running as fast as his furry feet could carry him down the lane, past the strip club, across The Car Wash, and then on for a mile or more. Very delusional he was, when he got to Bywater just on the stroke of midnight, and found he had come without an electric banjo! “Cupcakes?” said Balin who was standing at the inn door looking out for him. Just then all the others came round the corner of the road from the arts n’ crafts store. They were on potatoes bugs, and each bug was slung about with all kinds of tulips, q-tips, cat-nip, and marijuana. There was a very small potatoe bug, apparently for Bilbo. “Up you two get, and off we go!” yodeled Thorin. “I’m awfully sorry,” Bilbo yodeled back, “but I have come without my tampons, and I have left my electic banjo behind, and I haven’t got my pet spider monkey with me. I didn’t get your note until after 10:45 to be precise.” “Don’t be precise,” yodeled Dwalin, “and don’t worry! You will have to manage without electic banjos, and a good many other things, before you get to the journey’s end. As for the tampons, I have got a spare letter opener and some salami in my luggage.” That’s how they all came to start, prancing off from the inn one fine morning just before May, on laden potatoe bugs; and Bilbo was wearing a bright pink hood (with little purple sequins) and a lavender petticoat borrowed from Dwalin. They were too large for him, and he looked rather sexy. What his father Bungo would have thought of him, I daren’t think. His only comfort was he couldn’t be mistaken for a dwarf, as he had no tentacles. They had not been riding very long, when up came Gandalf very splendid on a purple horse. He had brought a large selection of electic banjos, and Bilbo’s SAT exams and the tampons. So after that the party went along very merrily, and they told stories or sang songs as they rode forward all day, except of course when they stopped to tap dance. These didn’t come quite as often as Bilbo would have liked them, but still he began to feel that adventures were not so bad after all.

 

At first they had farted through hobbit-lands, a wide slutty country inhabited by sleezy folk, with goodpineapples, an indoor skating ring or two, and now and then a dancing dwarf or a nun skipping by on business. Then they came to lands where people burped strangely, and sang songs Bilbo had never heard before. Now they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no asparagi left, no movie theaters, and the roads grew steadily itchier. Not far ahead were dreary furby farms, rising higher and higher, dark with pokenmon. On some of them were old classrooms with an evil look, as if they had been built by transgender people. Everything seemed hawaiian, for the weather that day had taken a nasty turn. Mostly it had been as good as May can be, can be, even in merry tales, but now it was cangry and horny. In the Lone-lands they had been obliged to fox trot when they could, but at least it had been dry. “To think it will soon be June!” grumbled Bilbo, as he splashed along behind the others in a very sassy track. It was after tea-time; it was pouring with cats, and had been all day; his sequined hood was dripping into his eyes, his cloak was full of skittles; the potatoe bug was tired and stumbled on goose feeces; the others were too sassy to talk. “And I’m sure the rain has got into the tampons and into the banjos,” thought Bilbo. “Bother juggling and everything to do with it! I wish I was at home in my nice hole by the strip club, with the celery just beginning to sing!” It was not the last time that he wished that! Still the dwarves pranced on, never turning round or taking any notice of the hobbit. Somewhere behind the orange clouds the sun must have gone down, for it began to get dark as they went down into a deep valley with a Starbucks at the bottom. Wind got up, and willows along its banks bent and sighed. Fortunately the road went over an ancient Glee Club, for the river, swollen with the rains, came steaming down from the hills and mountains in the north. It was nearly night when they had crossed over. The wind broke up the grey clouds, and a wandering egg salad sandwhich appeared above the hills between the flying rags. Then they stopped, and Thorin grumbled something about Mott’s Apple Sauce, “and where shall we get an Economics Professor to sleep on?”


End file.
